


Understand the Reference

by gracefulally



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-15
Updated: 2006-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 05:59:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulally/pseuds/gracefulally
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the wake of all the drama that is Neptune, CA, Veronica treats Logan to the feminine coping standby of chocolate and an 80s movie. Logan, however, shall not be swayed from his cryptic referencing ways...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Understand the Reference

Staring at the swimming pint in my hands, I’d tried to ignore the ever-present thoughts of abandonment. A person had to be depraved to be mad at someone, a family member no less, for dying. Yet, it kept happening. At this rate I should be taking up residency in the funeral home and just wait for the next one or three to come on through. Veronica hadn’t found that remark nearly as amusing as I had.

Out of all the people in this sink hole, I would have thought a Power Puff like her would have realized everything in Neptune was nothing but show 24/7. I had been playing my part for years—my parents in the spotlight while I was left at home with my waste for a sister and Nanny Fine. Somehow though, it had never bothered me as much as it did right now. For the first time I literally (and legally) was an orphan.

“Maybe I should just make this facade of mine complete with a stuffy red dress and orange afro,” I offered out-loud with a dry laugh while stirring the chocolate soup that was supposed to be my “healing” vice. Between this ice cream and _Pretty in Pink_ I was to be a “new” man—hopefully she meant me to be a heterosexual one.

Veronica paused in the plundering of her own pint to raise a questioning brow at the vague comment.

“Did I just hear you ask me for hair and fashion advice?” a quick little bird hand snatched the container from my grip. “That’s enough New York Super Fudge Chunk for you!”

Barely noticing the absence of my treat which was deposited on the coffee table, I became rather smug as I continued. “Orange hair does come with some bad karma. I’d be doomed to make prop jokes and dial down the center…”

My finger was lifted to punch a phone number down the front of Veronica’s shirt, but that plan was deflected by an elbow jab as her eyes rolled upward.

“And _now_ you're speaking in television commercials,” Veronica’s tone was matter-of-fact as she gave an irritated quirk of her head while pretending to be more interested in the movie than what I had to say.

“If the orange coif is only for her,” I gave a firm nod to Molly Ringwald, “then red dress and buckles shoes it is.”

There was a flip of blonde hair in the corner of my eye as she rounded on me with such a scrunched and incredulous expression that I couldn’t help but smirk.

“Okay,” there was apprehension in her voice as her brow became very stern. “Whatever obscure reference you’re making right now, just know, it’s completely lost on me.”

To say that must have pained her. “Leapin’ lizards, I’ve out-referenced her,” I deadpanned after curbing my desire to fist pump in my joy.

Eyes going wide, she increased our distance on the couch by inches and took up her Chunky Monkey. “Yeah and now you’re starting to scare her, too.”

After delay for my snickering, I conceded the root of my cryptic thoughts. “It’s Little Orphan Annie.”

To hear the name resonant through my thoughts made the smirk on my face falter before I gave Ronnie a glance.

“ _I’m_ Little Orphan Annie,” my voiced trailed off when I realized that the comment wasn’t entirely sarcastic as I had convinced myself it was.

In a blink the accusative look was back but it was hindered by the plastic neon green spoon that was still in her mouth, pinched between lips pursed in her annoyance with me. The tiny ones always were cute when they tried to glare.

My sardonic reaction to all the turmoil in my life over the past year drove Veronica crazy. I could tell it was a frustration to her. By now though, I had a hunch she was starting to understand that the unyielding trenchant of my talk was how I dealt with the crap hand the big guy upstairs had dealt me.

The process was quite simple and self-destructive, of course. Bottle up the emotions to drink, party, and joke away like nothing was wrong. Was that the product of a childhood based on appearance being everything? Maybe. It was all I’d ever known and a false sense of stability was better than none.

When she shook her head with a sigh as if I was to be ignored again it amused me more than the spoon and I gave her the sheepish smile that always managed a get-out-of-jail card with women.

“What? Was that not serious enough for your inner-psychiatrist?”

Veronica’s lips pressed together thoughtfully. “No, I think her main concern is your sudden interest in wearing women’s clothing.”

“Freudian slip?” I offered with a shrug.

That merited a wide grin. “That’s the catch-all,” she said pointedly before stretching to add the quickest of little pecks to my cheek. Her amused expression dropped into serious frown. “Just never ask to borrow my curlers.”

The bark of laughter that escaped me was more out of disbelief than anything. “You own curlers!?” Putting an elbow on the back of the couch I rested my chin to my fist as I leaned into her. “Dead ringer for Shirley Temple weren’t you?”

Though I saw the faint blush rise, Veronica merely mumbled a “Never mind.”


End file.
